


Casino Royale (Atlantis)

by calcitrix



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, SGA Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 11:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcitrix/pseuds/calcitrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place a couple of months before the events in "Vegas" and in that universe. The Hive Ship has been defeated, but Kamikaze Darts have crashed along the expanse of the Mojave. Evan Lorne is sent to hunt them down with the help of a scientist from Area 51. With backup from McKay and Carter, Lorne and Parrish follow the Wraith to Vegas, where they must join in a high-stakes poker game to track the Wraith and keep them from growing a new Hive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Casino Royale Atlantis](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/22977) by clwilson2006. 



> [](http://imgur.com/13Yr74B)   
> 

Colonel Lorne tried not to let the weariness show on his face as he nodded to Colonel Carter and came to a brisk military halt a pace to the right of the captain’s chair. She glanced up, returning his silent greeting with, “You missed the show. We just finished beaming the last piece of Hive ship down to Area 51.” There was a distinct note of pride in her voice; the Control Chair had been moved to Nevada at her insistence, precisely for an event like this. Sam would never actually say _I told you so,_ but surely she was thinking it. Or maybe it was that General O’Neill had been the one firing the drones. If the bridge weren’t so busy, he might have made a joke about it, but he lifted his eyes to the view in front of him instead.

The enormous viewscreen showed a dual projection of both the space around the ship and Earth’s landscape 2,000 kilometers below. Lorne watched a satellite whiz by on the left-hand side, followed by the severed wing of a Wraith Dart. On the right, the sunrise over the mountain ranges cast long shadows across the desert. “Sorry, Sam,” he replied. “I was getting a progress update from Woolsey.” Her mouth twitched at that, though she made no comment. When she’d turned down the offer to lead the Pegasus Expedition, she’d made it clear that she thought the project should exist as a scientific expedition and not fall under the control of the military as the Stargate had. Lorne always assumed that she’d meant the position to go to Doctor Jackson; her dislike of the IOA had certainly spiked when they’d appointed one of their own instead.

“How many Wraith do they think survived?” Carter leaned forward and propped her chin on her hand, as though she could count the wreckage of Darts scattered across Nevada from low orbit. Not that they hadn’t tried, but even with Asgard sensors the USS Hammond could distinguish between the blots of heat and radiation no better than the equipment at Area 51. Even now, Doctors McKay and Zelenka were down there, sorting through the Ancient Repository for anything useful and no doubt hounding Jackson into the interface the two had rigged the last time they were on Earth.

Lorne shrugged. “A couple dozen, maybe.” His fingers twitched instinctively toward his thigh holster at the thought of any Wraith loose on Earth, even in a space as desolate as the Mojave. “Any luck figuring out how the Hive got this far?” That was the official reason Carter had been recalled from the Asgard galaxy, and why the bulk of Atlantis’ brain power had spent a sleepless week hunkered down in Area 51. In Lorne’s opinion, the USS Hammond was in low Earth orbit because the IOA was scared shitless that the Hive had been only the tip of the iceberg.

Carter finally turned to face him, her frown deepening the crease between her eyes. He noticed for the first time how the recent months had aged her; the battle against the Ori had taken its toll. Carter’s gaze skimmed his face in turn, as if she were thinking the same thing about his own struggle against the ever-increasing numbers of Wraith. It seemed as though a new Hive awakened every week. And now this.

“McKay will be able to say for sure, but I think that this particular Hive must have adapted tech from an Ancient ship. Some of the pieces looked...Ancient-y.” Carter briefly turned her attention to a supply clerk, allowing Lorne a few moments to digest that information. They’d found a total of one working Ancient warship in their five years in Pegasus; the Traders were the only other people they knew who had any kind of space travel, and their ships were made patch and piecemeal from ten thousand year-old scavenged wrecks. 

If Carter were right--and he’d learned a long time ago that she usually was--that was the best news they could hope to hear. The Wraith hadn’t suddenly developed the means to travel beyond Pegasus en masse, though it still begged the question of how they knew Earth’s location in the first place, and added the concern of where they’d found an Ancient drive as a distant second. _Leave that to the geeks,_ he told himself. _Just worry about clean-up._

“Ma’am?” A voice crackled from the comm on Carter’s chair, and she returned the clipboard to the tech before punching the button with a terse “Go ahead.”

“We have the Gateship prepared for Colonel Lorne.” About time. They’d beamed the thing up from Stargate Command three days ago with assurances from Aegir that modifications to its scanning technology and the addition of an Asgard beaming device would only take one. In the meantime, Lorne had been beamed between Cheyenne Mountain and Area 51 so many times, he wasn’t sure what day of the week it was any more. He’d been brought aboard the Hammond one last time the night before, and walked into the middle of an argument between Aegir and an engineer over whether a Wraith would be able figure out how to open the hatch of the rear compartment by overriding the main controls. He’d wisely waited for them to sort that out by spending a few hours in restless sleep, and a few more studying detailed topographic projections of the Mojave Desert.

“Sounds like I’m good to go.” Lorne touched Carter’s shoulder briefly, wishing that they’d managed to find more than a few moments to catch up on everything that had happened since the last time they’d visited. “Stay safe, Colonel.”

“You, too, Colonel. Good luck out there.” She gave him a brief but genuine smile, then turned back to her personnel. “Lieutenant Novak, prepare the hangar bay, please.”

As busy as the bridge had been, the halls of the Hammond were eerily silent. Lorne’s boots echoed off the metal deck and walls, and he let the sound counterpoint the list in his head. Real orange juice, toast and bacon, fresh eggs that aren’t purple. Coffee that isn’t stale with real milk from an Earth cow. Pizza. Pad Thai. The subject didn’t particularly matter--food he’d missed was as good as anything--but he’d found that focusing on recitation allowed the rest of his brain to do whatever it needed to do to interface with Ancient technology. Concentrating too hard would make the Gateship buck and stutter, especially since it was one he hadn’t flown before. Paneer tikka, pinki chana. Maybe if he finished his sweep quickly enough, he’d have time to take Mitchell up on the offer to try the new Indian place in Colorado Springs. 

He’d moved on to desserts by the time he reached the hangar bay on the port side. It was bare of F-302s, which were stored in the starboard bay; the Gate Ship looked small in the brightly lit space. The engineer he’d met the night before offered him a crisp salute as Aegir stepped carefully down from the lowered rear hatch. “Colonel Lorne,” he said, “the Gateship is as secure as we could make it.”

Lorne nodded. As secure as an Asgard could make it would have to do. Woolsey wanted at least one Wraith taken alive so that they could question it, and the ship had been fitted with beaming technology for that purpose. “Thank you. Clear the bay, please.” 

His pre-flight check took only moments; long enough to ensure that the controls were in their usual places and for the ship to acknowledge his ATA gene. It was done before the airman and alien had reached the open airlock, and so Lorne counted to one hundred in prime numbers, a habit he’d picked up from McKay. The hatch hissed shut and the hangar bay doors began to open with a slow rumble. A brief check-in for clearance with Novak, mostly unnecessary, and he placed his palm on the slick crystal control panel. As quick as thinking it, the Gateship rose above the hangar deck and sped toward the starlit slice of space.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dry, dry desert dust. I smell your life and hunger for it.” The voice sounded like a knife scraping on glass, and it was driving Lorne crazy. No matter how he nudged the controls, he couldn’t completely block the noise from the rear compartment. Five hours of flying the cloaked Gateship in a grid pattern, and he’d found only one Wraith, half-mad from the sun. The Hive had attacked Earth a week ago; a human in the same situation might have lasted two days. Still, there had been corpses scattered amongst the wreckage of Darts as well as a few bodies collapsed at the end of a trail of bootprints, their owners unable to cope with the harsh environment. They had been damn lucky that none of the kamikaze Darts had actually hit the building housing the control chair, nor the weapons platform in Antarctica. He didn’t envy the airmen whose job it was to canvass _that_ area; at least he had a Gateship. 

Lorne reached the south end of the grid and eased the Gateship to a stop, tapping his coordinates onto the green overlay on the HUD. Three million acres to be on the safe side, most of it encompassing the Desert National Wildlife Refuge and the land to the west that was shared by the Air Force and the local native tribes. Aside from a herd of bighorn sheep and a few cougars, the Wraith he’d beamed into the back of the ship had been the only sizeable life that the ship’s sensors had detected. If more had survived, they’d likely come across a lone park ranger or Pauite...but from there? Theoretically there were enough small towns that barely warranted a dot on the map within walking range to keep a Wraith alive for years, while others could be holed up in a den somewhere in hibernation, invisible even to the Asgard-modified sensors. 

A burst of weak, demented laughter from the back prompted Lorne to stab angrily at his comm. “Nellis, this is Colonel Lorne. Be advised that I am returning with one, I repeat, one live package. Please have a team ready to secure.” He barely waited for the base airman’s reply before turning the nose of the Gateship northeast. Woolsey would have his prisoner to interrogate, and Lorne could hit the mess and find a free bunk for a few hours before returning to finish the grid. “And good riddance,” Lorne muttered over the sound of the creature’s sing-song chant.

 

Two days later Lorne was easing the Gateship back into its berth in Cheyenne Mountain, wondering if he’d be stuck at the SGC for the foreseeable future or if he might talk General O’Neill into granting him some well-deserved leave time. His return to Atlantis would have to wait until the Hammond or another ship was available for the journey, though from what he’d observed of the scientists’ feverish excitement back in Area 51, the current lack of transportation might be a moot point. McKay had answered his questions with a vague “maybe months, never had a Hive ship before, computer core is mostly intact,” and Zelenka was no better. At least if he was going to be stuck at the SGC he could catch up on sleep, enough to get the damn grid lines off the back of his eyelids every time he blinked and the echo of the Wraith’s voice out of his memory.

Lorne nodded to Siler as he climbed the steps to the conference room. The Sergeant gave him the go-ahead, even though Lorne could see well enough through the glass partition that O’Neill was alone. His training made him snap a smart salute from the doorway, though he knew that the general disliked the formality. “Sir.”

O’Neill was quiet for several heartbeats, then sighed, a long exhalation of breath that told Lorne he wasn’t about to be getting that leave time. Silent, O’Neill leaned forward and flicked his fingers against a small metal block on the table, sending it spinning in Lorne’s direction. It came to rest skewed, and he resisted the urge to tap it square to the table edge. “A Life Signs Detector.” He picked it up and the screen lit at his touch.

“Indeedy-o. Got it in one. Care to guess why?” Gray hair or no, O’Neill was still formidable, and the possibility that he’d gone slightly crazy over the years made Lorne bite back his initial response. Sometimes he wondered at Carter’s devotion to the man; then he remembered that the two had an entire lifetime of memories together, played out on a frozen ship in the depths of space and unraveled again in a microsecond. He couldn’t imagine what that had been like, and would never dare ask. All he knew was that she’d returned with a way to fix the Asgard cloning problem and churned out specs for improvements to their Daedalus-class ships whenever she had some spare time.

The Ancient device hummed and shut off when he palmed it. “Some of the Wraith made it out. Where?” 

O’Neill’s leather chair creaked as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table. “Sin City, son. Where better?”

“Figures.” Pocketing the Life Signs Detector, Lorne dared to joke, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could leave them be? No one would even notice.” Though the crack earned him a wry smile, Lorne quickly added, “They know the coordinates to Earth. But can they do that--” he circled a finger at the top of his head-- “telepathic communication thing at this distance?”

“You know ‘em better than I do,” O’Neill replied. “But let’s not take the chance.”

He was given a bunk for the night, and beamed back aboard the Hammond long enough to tell Sam that Jack said hello, and before Carter could even smile he was blinking at the harsh lights of the small, thick-walled room that served as the receiving area for Nellis Air Force Range and Area 51.

After dutifully submitting to the security protocols--even though he’d not so much as set a foot on civilian soil since returning to Earth--Lorne followed a young lieutenant to the hangar where they were storing what was left of the Hive. As expected, McKay and Zelenka were there along with several techs, each wearing the white suit civilians had to don when entering the facility. The lack of color only made McKay look paler than usual, and the circles under his eyes darker. No one seemed to notice his entrance, so Lorne leaned against the nearest wall and watched them work.

The Hive ship had been blown into pieces, but enough of them had been recovered to make the enormous space seemed cramped. There was a charred smell in the air; pockets of smoke hung near the high ceiling. Lorne guessed that damaged systems and wires--or what passed as wiring in Wraith systems--had been left sparking hot enough to burn, which they did when the pieces were suddenly transported into Earth’s atmosphere. Or maybe it was the poking and prodding of McKay and the other scientists. As Lorne watched, Zelenka jumped back with a curse in Czech and reached for a tiny portable fire extinguisher, which he immediately put to use on a flare of blue and green sparks.

“Careful, careful,” McKay warned too late. “I told you that section still has power. That better not have fried anything important.”

Lorne shook his head and pushed off from the wall, turning back to the hall where he’d come in. Woolsey would want to see him, and there was nothing he could contribute here. He’d learned long ago to leave Atlantis’ two top scientists alone when they argued; amazingly, it seemed to make both of them more productive rather than less. His escort rejoined him on the other side of the door. Security was tighter than the last time he’d visited, and he wondered if it was only a response to the Wraith attack or some other event that had transpired while he was in Atlantis. Woolsey wasn’t big on sharing things that other people didn’t need to know, and that included reports from the IOA. He really should try to catch up on things with Carter or Mitchell. Neither of them liked having those bureaucrats as go-betweens between the SGC and Atlantis, either.

It was hard to say where Nellis Air Force Range ended and Area 51 began. On paper, Area 51 existed as an off-site extension of Edwards AFB, which was practically its own suburb of Las Vegas. In truth, the tech that had been gathered from the Goa’uld over the years had been so integrated into the experimental aircraft being developed at Nellis that the two had practically merged. Lorne’s escort signed out a golf cart painted military green and gestured Lorne into the passenger seat. He had the decency to look apologetic, but Lorne just waved at him to get on with things, and a few minutes later they pulled into a shaded parking area outside the offices that had been granted to the IOA.

The space wasn’t overlarge; a converted storage area, Lorne had always assumed, since it still smelled faintly of oil and grease. No doubt the members of the IOA felt they were due something more grand, but their insistence on coming and going without having to bow to the rigorous security necessary in the rest of the complex had ended in the compromise of this small building tucked just to the west of the main entrance, a good half mile from the rest of the complex.

At least it was cool inside, a nice reprieve from the sweltering heat outdoors that permeated into most of the hangars on base and the nearest hallways. Lorne straightened his shirt--he’d been issued a regulation Air Force service dress uniform at Cheyenne, having arrived with only his Atlantis BDUs--grateful for the short sleeves and open collar. No one made a habit of hiding their Atlantis patches at Area 51, but O’Neill had suggested he work out of Henderson, where the pegasus might raise more than a few eyebrows.

Mister Woolsey looked up as Lorne swung the inner door open, and Lorne scanned the room, dreading the presence of one of the man’s colleagues. He didn’t mind Woolsey all that much when they were both in Atlantis; the man had learned as quickly as anyone what it took to survive in another galaxy. But the men and women on the advisory committee who had never left Earth--they were another matter entirely. He wasn’t sure what to make of the slim man sitting on Woolsey’s left. He didn’t look like a bureaucrat, not like Kinsey and Coolidge, whose every expression screamed displeasure with a hint of arrogance. He didn’t look like he belonged there at all, really. Take away the tailored suit and put him in science blues and he’d look at home with McKay and Zelenka puttering around in the labs.

“Colonel Lorne, thank you for coming.” Woolsey stood and shook Lorne’s hand, then turned to his companion. “I’d like to introduce you to Doctor David Parrish. He’s been working on Wraith physiology ever since Doctor Beckett sent back that severed arm five years ago.” Lorne recognized the name, though that only partially explained his presence.

Parrish stood and reached over the table, his long arm spanning the gap between them. Lorne took it, meeting eyes that shone with intelligence and humor. “I’ve read some of your reports,” Lorne told him. “You’ve done good work without much to go on.” It had been Parrish’s theory that the Wraith somehow grew most of their technology, integrating it with power and computer systems at various stages until it met their specifications. All that from a few bagged corpses, and they’d since found evidence that Parrish had been right. 

Parrish waved off the compliment with a smile as Lorne took the nearest seat. He’d already made a plan for tracking down and capturing the Wraith that were loose in Las Vegas, and assumed that Woolsey would give him the go-ahead and he’d be on his way to Henderson within the hour. He was irritated that the head of Altantis thought that he, of all people, needed a refresher on the Wraith, and that from a man who’d never even seen a live one.

Then Woolsey started to explain. The more he spoke, the tighter the knots in Lorne’s stomach wound themselves, until he was gripping his arm rests like a lifeline.


	3. Chapter 3

“The Air Force certainly doesn’t stint on accommodations, does it?” Parrish draped his garment bag over one of the several chairs in the main room of their suite. Lorne shrugged, unwilling to admit he’d upgraded their original reservations out of his own pocket. It wasn’t like he had much of an opportunity to spend his paychecks, and the Royale was much more centrally located than the crappy hotel the SGC had sprung for. Besides, he liked the palm trees and the pool, and the blue of the interior reminded him of home. 

“We’re not exactly on vacation here,” Lorne replied. He chose one of the bedrooms at random and organized the few things he’d picked up between Nellis and the hotel. A decent suit he hoped he wouldn’t have to wear, and a few sets of slacks and button downs would have to see him through. Dropping his empty duffel on the bed, he walked to the windows and pulled the curtains aside. 

Lights of every color flashed and blinked from below. The famous fountains of the Bellagio were just visible to the left, as was the corner of the Eiffel Tower at Paris if he leaned his forehead against the glass. The brightness dimmed within a block from the main strip, and beyond that seemed black and lifeless in comparison. How he longed for the peaceful solitude of Atlantis, and the breath from the ocean that lay beyond the colored glass windows. He’d loved it fiercely from the moment he’d stepped through the ‘Gate, even lifeless and dim as it had been at the time. He turned away with a sigh; the faster they got the job done, the sooner he could go back.

At Parrish’s insistence, they ate dinner at the buffet within the fake-European facade of Paris. Though worry and the sense of time slipping away nagged in the back of his head, the offered selection was enough of a distraction that Lorne found himself smiling at the scientist’s quirky sense of humor. Stuffed to the gills, they walked back out to the casino and threaded their way through the slot machines to the booth selling tickets near the front entrance. Lorne paid for two, and they patiently waited their turn for an elevator ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Though only a fraction of the real structure’s size, they’d decided that it was the best place to start their work. The open deck rose above the nearest hotels, giving them a view of the entire city. Lorne pulled the modified Life Signs Detector from his coat pocket, nearly losing it over the edge when Parrish pressed close to his back and braced his arms on the metal rail, guarding him from view. His lip brushed Lorne’s ear, a tender whisper of promises to anyone glancing their way. “Start it on the lowest setting and let it calibrate.” Parrish had on cologne, something spicy that reminded Lorne of other things he missed about being on Earth.

Lorne ducked his head toward the screen to hide his flush. “I know what I’m doing,” he replied quietly. But the truth was, he didn’t entirely understand what Parrish and McKay had done to the Ancient device. He thumbed the dial down as the screen lit, waiting for the usual display of white dots, hoping for a flash of blue that they could follow and eliminate. But the screen remained blank. “You broke it,” he hissed.

Leaning over his shoulder, Parrish tapped the lower left portion of the screen. A wobbly green line paraded across the glass, then stopped. “No, it works. That’s picking up a Wraith signal.” He glanced backwards guiltily, but no one was close enough to overhear. “A transmitter,” he added, lifting a finger to point over the tops of the gaudy hotels and casinos across the street.

If a Wraith signal was coming from that direction, Lorne would have to take Parrish’s word for it. Whatever they’d done to the LSD had made it appear as much the alien device that it was. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He relaxed his jaw and tried not to concentrate. When he looked back down, the ghostly outline of a map overlay the line indicating the transmitter. It was only a few blocks, and as good a place to start as any.

Back on street level, Lorne pushed his way through the tourists and drunks, brushed away the flyers advertising cheap prostitutes that were snapped in his face. Afraid to lose Parrish in the crowd, he reached back and took the man’s hand, ignoring the smirk he received in turn. The crowd thinned the further north they walked, until they stood in front of a chain link fence advertising what would soon be the tallest hotel on the strip. Craning his neck and wishing for Parrish’s height, Lorne saw only gaping darkness between huge steel beams of the facade. He started pulling Parrish around the corner.

“You’re planning to break in,” Parrish commented. 

“Absolutely.” Lorne dropped Parrish’s hand and patted his own pockets. He had his military ID, should they encounter security, and Colonel Grafton at Henderson AFB was only a phone call away. If that didn’t work, he also had a Goa’uld Zat, cheerfully loaned to him by Doctor Jackson. He only hoped that they didn’t have to bluff; Parrish didn’t seem the type for subterfuge. Finding that the entry to the construction zone was padlocked, he pulled on the chain and calculated how quickly he could make it over the top. “If you’re uncomfortable with this, go back to the hotel,” he told Parrish. “I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can.” Parrish nudged Lorne to the side and bent to look at the lock. When he pulled an electronic lock pick from his pocket, Lorne stepped out of the way and tried not to look too surprised. Maybe Parrish wasn’t as far along the geeky scale as he’d thought. Or he was one of those rare people, like Carter and Jackson, who could solve mathematical equations in the middle of a firefight. The chain holding the fence closed fell to the ground, and Parrish pushed one half open far enough for them to slip through.

The grounds didn’t seem to be guarded, though if a Wraith had come through recently, he could guess what had happened to them. No doubt they punched in and out during the night hours, and the workers wouldn’t miss them. They kept to the shadows regardless, and Lorne was pleased to note that despite his apparent gangliness, Parrish moved almost as silently as he did. In the shadowy gloom beyond the support beams was a maze of partially completed walls, some covered in drywall and others still wooden framework. Guessing the way up to be near the center, Lorne led them around blind corners, the Zat clutched in his hand.

There was a working elevator, but instead of buttons, only a single slot to swipe an access card. It was Lorne’s turn to be prepared, though he owed it to McKay’s foresight rather than any planning of his own. The man had rifled through the stores of Area 51 as if he’d owned them, tossing items he thought would be useful onto a metal table before gratuitously scribbling his signature on the clipboard Lorne had seen was clearly marked “Testing purposes only; not to leave the facility.” With a grin, Lorne produced a blank card from his wallet and swiped it. The lights beside the reader blinked orange and then green as they heard the hum of the motor start to turn in the basement. 

Stepping into the elevator, he pushed the top button and traded the access card for the LSD again. He could only hope that it worked in three dimensions and would somehow indicate the source of the transmission as they neared it. He had a sneaking suspicion it would be as high as the Wraith could put it, and when the doors slid open to reveal a narrow metal walkway, he knew he was right.

Lorne braced his arm against the elevator door so that it wouldn’t close. The floor was unfinished; nothing but metal girders lay between them and the far side of the building, itself open to the night air. He estimated that they were two hundred meters above the concrete foundation. Heights were about his least favorite thing, after Wraith and the reconstituted eggs they served in the mess.

“After you,” Parrish said with a shaky grin. Lorne shook his head and suggested that Parrish stay in the elevator. But, “Not a chance. I won’t be boxed in if the Wraith is still here.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to him, and the idea of being chased at such a height made dinner roll uncomfortably in his stomach. “Fine. But go slowly.” He didn’t look back, but could feel Parrish’s eyeroll anyway. _One step at a time._ Lorne had climbed a single story on the outside of the tallest tower in Atlantis once, and still had nightmares about it. Glancing at the LSD one last time, he calculated the best route and shoved the device back in his pocket. The Zat he stuffed in his jacket pocket. Then he took a deep breath, and stepped out into space.

It wasn’t that bad, so long as he kept his eyes on the center of the beam. At least it was dark, though that gave any lingering Wraith the advantage. But by the time they’d turned the first corner, he decided that they were alone; a Wraith would have attacked by now. Foot by foot they drew closer, edging around the rough welds at the seams and stepping over the double stacked girders that gave the structure its strength. Wind gusted past them, cool and dry at this height and smelling like the desert.

He saw the beacon halfway out, a green light that blinked from the corner of an upright beam. He’d seen their like before, on corpses of warriors and sometimes drones, and the thought of them as the equivalent to the tracking device that was implanted in his own arm. They didn’t have much reach--certainly not to the Pegasus Galaxy. Maybe its wearer had thought that the Hive had survived the battle and was hoping for rescue. In the meantime, where ever he was, he wasn’t here. Looking neither right nor left, and certainly not down, Lorne reached the corner and grabbed the upright gratefully. Parrish scooted in beside him, and though he could feel the man’s heart racing where his chest brushed his arm, on the outside Parrish appeared calm. 

“You okay to lead on the way back?” Lorne asked, reaching for the Wraith beacon. Parrish nodded, then turned and was halfway back along the first section of girder before Lorne had managed to snap the thong wound around the thread of a raised rivet. Knowing McKay would want a look at the thing, he stuck it in his pocket next to the Life Signs Detector.

Something beeped near the elevator. Still holding onto the vertical corner beam, Lorne tilted his head and listened. The second beep allowed him to spot the source of the noise, and his heart leapt into his throat. The Wraith had rigged a booby trap, organic wiring wrapped around enough man-made explosives to remove the top half of the tower. Though he couldn’t see the Wraith numbers, he doubted that they had enough time to get back to the elevator. There were too many corners to turn to run the distance without falling, which left very few options.

“Parrish!” The scientist had also been searching out the origin of the sound, arms out and still as stone. He looked over, frightened, and Lorne searched desperately for a means of escape. He doubted that they had much more than a minute, which left jumping, or...sliding. _We are going to die,_ Lorne thought as he let go of the support and started running. Parrish gaped at him, then swung his head around to follow Lorne’s outflung hand. 

“You’re crazy!” Parrish shouted, but then he was running too, straight ahead and toward the edge, just paces ahead of him. Within moments he was at the far end and was jumping, arcing out into open space. Lorne didn’t have time to watch. He adjusted his last two steps and pushed off as hard as he could.

It was like the moment of being suspended at the top of a rollercoaster, or that time when his F302 had stalled out during a test flight and he’d been weightless, right before the terror kicked in. This was the same, but there was no comforting seatbelt, no buttons to push. There was only a dark target against a light-washed sky, and for the second before gravity started to pull at him again, he thought he really was going to die. Then he slammed into the metal arm of the boom crane hard enough to bruise his ribs, and he jammed his arms between the crossed metal supports, the edges digging into his skin.

Parrish was already climbing up, sliding between the cross pieces to collapse onto the metal catwalk above the rails of the trolley gear. Lorne heaved upwards and did the same, pausing only long enough to grab a fistful of Parrish’s shirt and pull him toward the mast. They would be out of time within seconds. The distance seemed endless, the metal grate beneath their feet bouncing and clanging. 

And then they were above the operator’s cab and the mast and six hundred feet of metal ladder in ten-foot sections, alternating sides like a miniature stairwell. Lorne outright jumped the first one, landing hard and rolling to grab the next set of rungs. As he started to slide, another clang of metal told him that Parrish was right behind him.

They were about a third of the way down when the explosion happened, deafeningly loud and with enough force to rattle the crane’s supports, buried below in a concrete foundation. Lorne clung to the ladder, and had to look. The fireball was massive, and even as he watched, the girders that made up the top three stories of the unfinished tower seemed to bow outward. He heard Parrish whoop, though in terror or exhilaration, Lorne wasn’t sure. He knew from experience that men reacted to a brush with death in many ways. He also knew from experience that they needed to get down before the adrenaline wore off and left them shaking so hard that they couldn’t hold on.

The crane’s lifting mechanism, on a metal track parallel to the metal catwalk they’d bolted over, had begun to swing, dangling from only one of its cables. Its every arc made the metal tower shudder, and Lorne heard sounds he didn’t want to contemplate. One of the buckled girders on the hotel gave way with a screech loud enough to make his ears ache, and he pressed on, ignoring the pain in his knuckles and a knee that had begun to throb.

It took a year to reach the ground, or so it felt. When his feet hit dirt Lorne nearly collapsed. Parrish tumbled into him a moment later, and only sheer force of will kept him upright. Sirens were screaming, and a fire truck had already pulled up to the far side of the fence. They stumbled in the opposite direction, grateful that the break in the fence faced the dark of a golf course in progress rather than the street. 

“Oh, hey--wait a minute.” Lorne paused long enough to pull the Wraith beacon from his pocket and toss it to the ground. He drew the Zat and shot a quick blast at the little medallion. When he picked it back up, it was dead. Pocketing both items, he grinned at Parrish, and the two of them attempted to walk casually toward the strip, joining in at the edge of the crowd of gawkers long enough to take in the scene. Parrish elbowed him and pointed; a sign attached to the fence gave an opening date a few months away. It was all Lorne could do not to collapse in a fit of laughter, punchy and wild from the events of the evening. 

Though they were filthy and their clothes were torn, hardly anyone gave them a second look as they wearily walked back to their hotel. Leaning against the wall of the elevator, Lorne smiled. “You were pretty great out there,” he told Parrish. “You kept your cool and knew what I needed you to do. I don’t suppose I could entice you into moving out to the Pegasus Galaxy?”

“Entice?” Parrish repeated the word with a sly grin, his teeth white against the sweat-streaked dirt on his face. “You mean with more death-defying stunts, or did you have something else in mind?”

The doors opened on their floor, saving Lorne from having to answer. They stumbled into the suite and to their separate rooms. Peeling off his clothes, he stuffed them into the room’s tiny waste bin and stepped into the shower. It took him a moment to remember there was a real, physical dial rather than a sensor, but soon the near-scalding water was soothing the worst of the aches from his body.

Too tired to think about the Wraith, he pondered his companion instead. There had been an offer there, he was sure of it. Just as he was sure that anything that happened on the downside of an adrenaline high would be a mistake. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted...but when he looked in on Parrish half an hour later, the man was already sprawled under the covers of his bed, asleep. Lorne’s own mattress felt like heaven, and even the lights blinking outside of his window couldn’t keep him awake.


	4. Chapter 4

Woolsey frowned at Lorne through the screen of his laptop. “You blew up Donald Trump’s hotel.” 

“The Wraith did,” Lorne replied more calmly than he felt. Woolsey’s sour mood was making all of Lorne’s bruises ache that much more. Three Tylenol hadn’t even touched the pain in his ribs, though he felt like he might be able to use his knee again some time in the next year. 

“And you’re sure you disabled the tracking beacon? Do you think that the Queen put it there to call in her surviving crew, or...?”

“The Queen could probably call them all to her any time she wanted to.” Lorne adjusted the bag of ice sitting on his knee and tried not to grimace. They’d already discussed this twice. In Lorne’s opinion, the fact that a Wraith had placed the beacon in the first place was evidence, however shaky, that their conclusion about the Queen’s escape was wrong. Why transmit a signal you knew no one would receive? And smart as Parrish was, he couldn’t be right all the time.

“Keep looking,” Woolsey replied. “We can’t leave any Wraith free, Queen or otherwise.” And with that, the screen went dark. Lorne remained seated in front of the computer, thinking.

What he wouldn’t give for another set of feet on the ground. Or a dozen. Surely ending this sooner was worth the risk that the SGC and IOA’s secrets would get out. Lorne scowled. Or not. Regardless, it was the IOA’s decision, and they had decided to throw an Air Force Colonel and a brilliant geek at the problem and hope for the best. “Hey, Parrish.” Though the guy gave every appearance of being asleep on the couch, Lorne was sure he’d been listening to the exchange. Sure enough, he opened his eyes and regarded Lorne with raised eyebrows. “How sure--” Lorne stood and walked toward the ice bucket--“I mean, how really seriously sure are you that the Queen survived?”

“Seventy five percent?” Parrish shrugged. “Eighty?” He sat up with a wince, and Lorne tossed him the fresh bag of ice he’d just filled. “Colonel Carter never recovered the main escape ship from the wreckage.”

“Maybe it took a direct hit.” Scooping another cupful of ice, Lorne debated how to put it to best use, and reached for the fanciest cut-glass bottle on the table. He poured a measure into the glass, and hobbled over to a chair. “I never found it out in the desert, either.”

Parrish chewed at his bottom lip. “Maybe. But it had its own power source, and limited shielding.”

Lorne sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter what the chances are. If it contains the seed to grow a whole new Hive Ship, we have to be sure.” And that conclusion was as repetitive as anything Woolsey had said. But it would take both space and power, resources that the Wraith couldn’t easily acquire. He tried to put himself in the Wraith’s position: how would he do it? Space would be easy enough; twenty miles in any direction of the city was as barren as the United States got. But then you were away from power sources, too.

“You’re thinking in circles again,” Parrish said. He stood and headed toward his room. “I’m going downstairs to soak in the hot tub.” Lorne nodded. That sounded like the best plan he’d heard all morning.

 

They found the first Wraith a week later. When no other communication signals had been picked up on the Life Signs Detector, they’d taken to walking the streets block by block, heading out at dawn when there were fewer tourists to crowd the screen with little dots. It was luck, plain and simple, but a lead was a lead, and in this case they hoped that the Wraith would lead them to his Queen.

“How can they not notice he’s an alien?” Parrish whispered after they’d observed their target for several minutes. 

“I’ve seen people who looked more bizarre than that,” Lorne replied. He glanced around the column again, but the Wraith hadn’t moved. He was playing Blackjack, of all things, sitting at a deserted table and glaring at the dealer with barely disguised contempt. He was wearing human clothing and a pair of sunglasses, large enough to cover the slits on either side of his nose. The dealer must have been used to such behavior, not batting an eye as the Wraith won another hand and gathered his chips.

“He’s totally cheating.” Parrish sounded as upset about that as about the Wraith’s presence in the casino in the first place. “He’s just getting the images of the cards out of her head, and she doesn’t even notice.”

It felt like a tickle, or an itch, Lorne knew. Not pleasant, but not particularly alarming if you didn’t know what it was. “He’s also losing every fifth hand exactly,” he replied. “If she were more than half awake, she’d notice.” It wouldn’t have taken the Wraith long to pick up on the need for money to do anything, or how to dress blend in. What struck him as strange was that this Wraith had clearly already accomplished that, and was putting himself at risk rather than hiding away until he needed another meal.

The Wraith played for nearly two hours and left with a stack of chips Lorne estimated to be worth several hundred dollars. The dealer watched him leave with obvious relief. He and Parrish followed at a distance, watching as he cashed in and pocketed the bills and headed back out into the heat of the day.

“This place must feel like paradise,” Lorne muttered as they emerged onto the sidewalk. His brief experience on a Hive ship had been nearly as muggy and uncomfortable, and that was aside from the threat of having the life sucked out of him. He wished they’d all crashed in Antarctica instead, where there was little to feed on besides penguins. 

The sidewalks were beginning to fill with those looking to find lunch or a new bank of slots. The Wraith was easy enough to follow, and seemed oblivious to their presence ten yards behind him. Still, they let him turn a corner, pausing to pull out the LSD and thumb the power to low. When he turned another corner, Lorne shook his head at Parrish, and they continued. Block after block the Wraith walked, turning right and then left, a continual pattern that made Lorne wonder if he did know he was being followed. But then the green dot paused halfway down the next block, turning left into whatever building stood there.

It was a storage facility, the kind every city had dozens of. This one was in a neighborhood Lorne would charitably describe as “rough,” with dilapidated cars missing hubcaps and even entire wheels parked along the curb. The fence surrounding the rows of low metal buildings was cut and bent upwards in several places. Ducking underneath, Lorne saw that the nearest security camera was broken, dangling from wires and lens cracked.

Deciding he’d rather have Parrish with him, Lorne gestured three rows to their right; the dot had stopped, and joined another within. That didn’t mean there weren’t more on the way, and he gripped the Zat, pausing against the corrugated metal of the nearest structure. “When they sense us, they’re going to suspect trouble.” There was no way around it; he just had to hope he was faster on the draw, that they would be expecting to grab a meal rather than face armed adversaries. “Think innocent thoughts.”

Parrish snorted but Lorne ignored it, trying to hold a picture of a motorcycle in storage in his head rather than a snarling Wraith. It might not help, but it wouldn’t hurt. The door of a shed halfway down the next row was open. Lorne kept flush to the same side, hoping to stay out of view for as long as possible. When he guessed they were close enough for the Wraith to pick up on their intent as well as their presence, he broke into a run. 

The first Wraith leapt at him from the darkness, teeth bared. Lorne aimed and fired, realizing at that moment that the effects of a Zat stun were untested against Wraith. It shuddered and shook its head, then grinned. Lorne shot it again, and then again for good measure. Theoretically it should be dead and disintegrated, but instead it collapsed slowly to the ground. 

Swinging the Zat up toward the opening, Lorne called, “I can’t see the second--” and was bowled over by the Wraith that pounced from the roof. The Zat went spinning as he hit the ground and the air was driven from his lungs. Lorne tried to roll and only managed to buck. The creature smiled, all teeth, and bared its feeding hand. It reared back, prepared to strike, and was consumed by a flash of blue, and then another.

Lorne rolled away as it fell, panting into the dust. He stood shakily and dug his toe into the Wraith. “I owe you one,” he said, trying to convince his heart to settle. Parrish nodded solemnly, examining the Goa’uld weapon with interest. 

The storage compartment contained several paper bags full of cash, part of a console from a dart, another locater beacon, and two dessicated corpses. After securing the Wraiths’ hands with zip cuffs, he carefully went through the pockets of the dead men, but any clues to their identities were long gone. They dragged the Wraith into the storage space, hauling the door shut behind them with a rusty squeak. In the dim light of a single bulb, they waited for the first one to awaken.


	5. Chapter 5

Carter contacted him three days later, giving Lorne just enough time to shower and change before beaming him aboard the Hammond. Since they didn’t know how far Wraith telepathy could reach, nor how many were needed to increase the distance, the two Lorne and Parrish had captured were being held apart from the one in Area 51. “Every time we ask him about his Queen, he just repeats that we don’t know anything,” Carter was saying as they walked to the holding cell. Lorne thought that the one that had jumped from the roof was on her ship; the other was in the lowest level of Cheyenne Mountain. 

“That’s all he would say to us, too,” Lorne replied. They stopped just short of the shield across the opening of the cell. The Wraith sat on the cot, back straight and eyes on the opposite wall. It was more than weird to see Wraith in jeans and a t-shirt, though they’d confiscated the sunglasses. 

“That’s where this comes in.” Carter lifted something that looked like an iTablet and tapped on the glass. The Wraith twitched. “I’ve been working with Aegir to modify a smaller version of a Tok’ra design. It should be able to pick up on Wraith thoughts, similar to how they read us.”

“Nice.” Lorne leaned forward to have a look. It was a jumble of images; the interior of a Hive ship, the aisles of some casino. A Queen’s face flashed briefly and was gone.

“Needs a little work still,” Carter said, “but it’s better than nothing,” and Lorne had to agree.

“You know nothing,” the Wraith spat.

“Shut up,” Carter replied with a smile. “Anyway, I thought you’d like to see it before we beamed you over to the Mountain.”

“I’ll tell General O’Neill you said ‘Hi.’”

 

The Wraith at the SGC hadn’t been talkative, either, and by the time Lorne was beamed back into his room at the Royale he was no closer to discovering the location of the Queen, or even if she was still alive.

“How did it go?” Parrish looked up from the newspaper, and without waiting for an answer added, “There was a break-in at a chemical storage facility. It doesn’t say what was taken, but it might be worth checking out.”

“Yeah,” Lorne agreed, collapsing on the couch. Nearly two damn weeks they’d been at it, and only the two Wraith to show for it. He was beginning to think that those were the only ones. Maybe they’d been stockpiling cash to buy weapons, or...

“Oh, look at this.” Parrish shoved the paper at him and he took it, but it was several seconds before he saw what had him so excited. 

“Is that--?” Lorne raised his eyes and then just as quickly peered back down at the photo. It was black and white, and grainy, but unmistakably a Wraith Queen. “Woman wins big at Circus, Circus,” Lorne read. It didn’t say how much, but he suspected it had to be a lot to be worthy of the winners’ blurb that appeared every few days. It listed only her first name, given as Rhonda. “Damn.”

“I guess that answers that question,” Parrish said. He sat down on the arm of the chair and studied the photo. “But what’s she going to do with the money?”

Lorne dropped the paper on the coffee table and leaned back, closing his eyes. “What would she need to make the Hive grow? Other than power, I mean.”

“If she were on a Wraith planet, the fledgling Hive would absorb nutrients and silicas from the soil. Water, too.” Parrish sounded distracted, like he was on the edge of a thought just out of reach. “Fertilizer, maybe. Scans of the planets always came up with a high percentage of helium, though that might be a coincidence...”

“All right,” Lorne said when Parrish’s voice drifted to a stop. “Leave that for later. Let’s assume she needs a lot of cash. Where’s she going to get it?”

“Well, that’s easy--she can just win at cards.”

“Right.” Lorne opened his eyes and stretched. “The other two had a couple thousand bucks between them. Let’s assume she needs more than that.” He gestured toward the newspaper. “Obviously she’s figured out how.”

“High stakes,” Parrish mused. “Really high stakes.” He used Lorne’s shoulder to lever himself off the arm of the chair. “Find the high stakes card games, find the Wraith Queen.”

“That’s my thought.” Lorne also stood, wondering how one inquired about such things. Maybe he needed a bookie. But first he needed food. “Room service or delivery?”

In the end, they found a guy named Jimmy, who knew a guy named Red, who, for the right price, could get you a list of every high-stakes, back room poker game in the city. Lorne and Parrish forked over the Wraiths’ earnings in exchange for a thumb drive, and scrolled through the listings over beers in their hotel suite.

“Holy shit,” Parrish said, pointing to the buy-in column. “Do people really play for that much money?”

“Apparently they do,” Lorne replied. The sums were staggering. He wouldn’t be able to buy in at three-quarters of the games, and the others only if he liquidated everything he owned. Somehow he doubted that the IOA would hand him a blank check. 

“Maybe Red has a list of not-so-high-stakes games,” Parrish suggested. “The Queen couldn’t have enough to play in these games, either.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Lorne pointed at the column indicating who was sponsoring each game. “Rhonda Q. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

Parrish frowned. “So we follow her from the game. We don’t have to play.”

“You don’t have to play,” Lorne corrected. “But I do. The location is only disclosed after we pay the buy-in and the money’s transferred.” He studied the phone number of the contact, wondering how good McKay’s hacking skills were. It was probably a disposable phone, but-- “McKay!” Lorne whooped. “We do have a way in.”

“I don’t understand.” Parrish was frowning at him like he’d lost his mind. 

Lorne grinned and pulled out his phone. “Trust me. We need to make a quick stop at Area 51.”

 

“You need how much?” McKay’s voice squeaked on the last syllable. Zelenka winced and gently took the scanner out of McKay’s hand and set it on a table. They’d interrupted something important, judging by the number of techs busy in the hangar. Parrish shifted uncomfortably, and Doctor Jackson crossed his arms over his chest, looking amused.

“Well, you’ve got it, right?” Lorne spread his arms. “You brag constantly about how much money your nanotech firm pulls in. And anyway--” he pointed a finger at the scientist’s chest--“it’s Ancient tech you’re selling, so it’s not technically yours.”

“Borrowed,” McKay protested. “Borrowed and improved. It’s almost nothing like the original idea, in fact.” His mouth turned down, a sure sign that he was exaggerating the truth. “And anyway, the IOA said I could.”

“Do they know you pull in a seven figure income from it every year?” Lorne almost laughed at the way McKay glanced around the room furtively, holding out his hands in a shushing gesture. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“Offshore accounts, McKay? Tsk, tsk.” Jackson grinned, clearly enjoying McKay’s discomfort.

“You said you barely cleared expenses,” Zelenka muttered. Lorne couldn’t have chosen a better audience.

McKay practically deflated, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he muttered. “You’re going to lose, playing against a Wraith, you know.”

“I only need to get close enough to tag her with a homing beacon so that the Hammond can pick her up.” He almost felt bad, but only for a moment. “Think of it this way--you’re helping save the planet.”

Striding toward the nearest laptop, McKay started typing furiously. After a minute, he slammed the lid shut and lifted his chin. “I set up an account in your name and emailed you the number. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cry myself to sleep.” His performance and dramatic exit were mostly for show, Lorne knew. What McKay _really_ didn’t want everyone to learn was how little he cared about the money. He’d admitted as much once, and sworn Lorne to absolute secrecy. Apparently, if his underlings found out that he donated the bulk of his profits to charity, his reputation as a fearful dictator would go up in smoke and nothing would ever get done. So he claimed. 

“You know, if you capture the Wraith, theoretically McKay could find a way to get his money back, and probably all the winnings, too.” Doctor Jackson lifted an eyebrow, then turned back to the crew working at a safe distance from the yelling.

“We don’t need to tell him that.” Zelenka grinned and turned to follow Jackson, clapping his hands and pointing at the nearest tech.

Parrish grabbed Lorne’s arm and led him toward the exit, where a military car was waiting to take them back to Sin City. “You have ten million dollars.” He shook his head. “Do you know what we could do with that?”

“Sure,” Lorne replied with a laugh. “We can catch a Wraith Queen.”


	6. Chapter 6

Lorne was feeling a bit of a nervous wreck. What if the list of contacts was a scam? What if they had the wrong Rhonda? What if he couldn’t guard his thoughts well enough and they all ended up dead?

“Breathe.” Parrish put comforting hands on his shoulders and squeezed. Lorne did, answering his own questions and putting fears to rest. They were waiting for a call back from someone named Sammy, who was even now confirming their bank account information. If he drained it and took off with their money, they would be back where they started, and the same were true if the name were a coincidence. But Lorne was sure that they had the right one. Carter would be waiting in the Hammond in case it all went to hell, and could extract the two of them if need be. He breathed out, feeling calm, and then his phone rang.

“This is Lorne.” He listened to Sammy’s gravelly voice give instructions: date, time, place. Then the line went dead. Turning to Parrish with a grin, he said, “You’re never going to believe this. It’s here. In our hotel. Tomorrow night.”

With a laugh, Parrish answered, “Well, it is the Casino Royale. Fit for a Queen, right?” He pulled his hands away to pace, and Lorne missed their warmth. “So we have two days to relax. Unless you want to keep looking for other Wraith?”

Lorne considered it as Parrish walked from the chair to the window and back again. “We haven’t seen hide nor hair of any other signals, no suspicious activity, no corpses. If there’s more out there, they’re well hidden. Once we get the Queen, Sam can use that mind reader thing of hers to ferret out the others.”

Turning one last time to face Lorne, Parrish nodded. “I know what we can do to fill some of the time.” That smirk was back, and this time Lorne could think of no excuses. His stomach fluttered in anticipation as Parrish leaned down to take his hands, pulling him to his feet. Lorne went willingly, stepping close...and then Parrish tugged him toward the door. “Put on your shoes.”

“Wait, what?” His confusion must have been evident, but Parrish only smiled wider as they left the suite and crossed the street. The fountains at the Bellagio had a crowd of watchers gathered around them, but Parrish walked the other direction, around the side of Caesar’s Palace and up the stone steps to the cool interior. 

They’d walked through every casino what felt like a hundred times, so when Parrish turned the corner of the marble hallway, Lorne asked, “We’re going shopping?” The scientist had always dressed neatly; much more so than Lorne, whose style ran more to the practical. He had his answer when they stopped in front of a men’s boutique, mannequins in the windows dressed in formal attire. “I have a suit,” Lorne protested. 

“You have a suit that looks like you borrowed it from a retired cop,” Parrish corrected. He leaned close. “You can not show up at a multi-million dollar poker game wearing khaki slacks and loafers.”

Lorne wanted to argue, but Parrish was probably right, and his tone implied that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. With a sigh, Lorne stepped forward and through the door, prepared totake the first tux that looked like it would fit. Instead, Parrish steered him toward the back, nudging him toward the immaculately dressed man behind the counter. “This and this, please,” Parrish said. Somehow he’d managed to grab an armload of items, which he folded carefully over the glass countertop. 

The man nodded, obviously pleased with Parrish’s selections, and Lorne spent the next twenty minutes feeling like one of the mannequins in the window. He didn’t want to know how Parrish had judged his size so precisely, but he had to admit that he looked good. When he caught Parrish staring hungrily, he had to wonder how much this was really about poker, or if Parrish were playing another type of game. 

Well, he could give as good as he got. When he’d changed back into his street clothes and handed the tux through the curtain, Lorne emerged from the dressing room and gazed at the racks. Each style was displayed facing front, arranged to look their most elegant and appealing. He passed by the first several, none of which was as stylish as the one Parrish had picked for him. And then he saw it. The lines were slim and spare, vest and long tie complementing the shape. It was a deep red and patterned just enough to be muted. Doing his own calculations, he selected an ensemble and silently walked back to the counter.

Parrish looked up, and Lorne was pleased to see he’d caught him off guard for once. It didn’t last long. with a twitch of his lips, he took the garments and disappeared into a fitting room. Lorne expected to get a look, anticipation tingling in his stomach, but when Parrish reappeared he had already changed back into his shirt and tie. Still, he nodded in approval and handed the bundle over to the employee. 

His own tux had already been carefully placed in garment bags that probably cost more than an entire suit elsewhere. He felt a surge of pleasure that Parrish would splurge on him just to see him in a tux. He signed his own receipt without even looking at the total, and gave the employee their hotel information so that the garments could be pressed and delivered.

Feeling almost giddy, Lorne let Parrish lead him around in a daze. They watched all of the shows up and down the street, then toured the conservatory at the Bellagio. Parrish knew every plant, admitting a secret love for botany. They walked to New York, New York, where Lorne admitted a not-so-secret love of roller coasters. Somehow they managed to avoid talking about the Wraith and what would happen the next night. Lorne felt like he belonged on the planet for the first time in years, and even the gondola ride at the Venetian didn’t make him feel homesick.

 

Lorne dressed slowly, finding a pocket for everything he’d need that wouldn’t create odd bulges or arouse suspicion. Getting thrown out by security would be as bad as being discovered by the Wraith Queen. He tied the laces of his new shoes and stood, stretching his arms and testing the give of the fabric. There was nothing to be worried about; their plan was solid. He repeated that thought as he exited to the main room of the suite, then sucked in a breath and pulled up short.

Parrish was leaning against the opposite door frame, eyes on the lights outside the window. He looked amazing, and pulled off the color and style of the tux as though it were designed for him. _I could spend the rest of my life with him._ The realization washed over him like a wave of cold seawater, raising goose bumps on his arms and making his throat feel tight. _But does he feel the same way?_ “David...” It came out as a croak. Parrish turned his head, eyes raking Lorne from his toes to the top of his head, making him feel naked rather than dressed to kill.

“Evan.” Parrish smiled, and if he was feeling anything akin to the roil in Lorne’s stomach, he didn’t show it. But Lorne could feel the energy between them like electricity, like he’d been hit with a Zat and was bracing for the fall. It was all Lorne could do not to crowd Parrish back toward the bed and strip that tux off piece by piece. He shook his head, forcing away the distraction. He’d be facing a Wraith Queen in an hour, and inattention could get them both killed. 

The atmosphere in the elevator felt strained, and Lorne wished he’d made a move before now, that they’d resolved this cat and mouse game and moved on, whatever the outcome. No doubt Woolsey would want him back at Area 51 as soon as this was over, and the opportunity would be gone. 

That thought sobered his mood as they wove through the aisles on the casino floor. A discreet inquiry led them to a security guard at a rear door, who checked their names off a list before allowing them to enter.

Lorne wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. In his experience, poker games were played around whatever table they could acquire and mis-matched chairs from a dozen offices. This would have to be the opposite end of the spectrum. The table was polished mahogany with marble inlay, the chairs leather and well-padded. The room itself was brightly lit, though sheer curtains covered the windows. There were extra chairs for players’ guests, a well-stocked bar, and enough servers in matching colors to assure individual attention.

Scanning the room, he saw people of all nationalities, each dressed impeccably. He was grateful for Parrish’s insistence on the tux, whatever his motivations had been. Parrish hung on his arm now, playing the part of his escort. More than a few eyes trailed after them as they headed to the bar and ordered drinks. Once Parrish was seated, Lorne found a place at the table, and a server brought him a carousel of chips. He toyed with them idly, trying to pretend that the ten-thousand dollar bits of weighted plastic were an everyday sight.

He felt her rather than saw her; a chill in the room that felt like ice on the back of his neck. The other players reacted to her as well in a shiver that moved through the crowd. Lorne dared to look. The Queen was dressed in a white cocktail gown, red hair spilling over her shoulders. She must have used make-up, for though she was pale, her skin lacked the green tinge of her kind. She met his gaze briefly--brown with a hint of gold, slit pupils hidden beneath colored lenses--and turned away, showing no interest in him whatsoever. Breathing out slowly, Lorne turned to the man next to him and engaged him in conversation, waiting for the game to begin.


	7. Chapter 7

It was obvious from the start that the Queen was deft at silently prying information from the other players. She had an air of confidence, but he caught her frowning at her hand more than once, as if confused by the configuration. No doubt she relied on what she could pluck from their minds rather than knowing the rules of the game, and he wondered if it was a vulnerability he could exploit. He just as quickly dismissed the thought for fear that she’d read it.

Instead he concentrated on his cards. He managed to win a hand or two, though his pile dwindled more quickly than he’d have liked. The game went on, players excusing themselves for a hand to visit the bar or the restroom. Lorne watched them all. He only needed to come into contact with the Queen briefly, long enough to slip the beacon in a pocket or purse. Parrish carried a small remote they would use to activate it, hoping to follow her out and do so when she was out of view of curious eyes.

But if he continued to lose he’d never have the chance. He stood and excused himself, joining Parrish where he leaned against the bar. “I can’t get close enough,” Lorne said quietly. He palmed the beacon and took Parrish’s hand, pressing it into his fingers. It would be a severe breach of etiquette to approach her at the table, but if he managed it, it wouldn’t matter if they were blackballed from such games for life.

“Watch her facial slits,” Parrish whispered. “She tries to breathe through them when she’s deciding to raise or fold.” Lorne blinked. The possibility of actually beating her hadn’t occurred to him, focused as he was on the beacon. But if he did win...if he took the pot--easily a hundred million--she was sure to come after him.

Fresh drink in hand, Lorne resumed his place in the game. He’d already sussed out the style of a few of the others; the man to his right, on a business trip from Japan, was bold enough to raise even when he had nothing. The two men dressed in Middle Eastern garb were more cautious, while the man with the Boston accent played like he meant to lose. Aside from the Queen, there was a woman he couldn’t read at all, German or Austrian by her accent, and three other men who had remained completely silent.

Enthusiasm renewed, Lorne played to win. His pile of chips doubled, then tripled. Parrish had been right about the Queen’s tell, and he used it to his advantage. Two of the silent men bowed out, declining to buy back in with a second five million. The Japanese businessman left long enough to approve a second transfer from his bank. 

And then the cards were right to take it in one fell swoop. He cleared his mind, and pictured three aces, several hands lower than what he actually had. The chips piled into the center of the table, and one by one the others folded. But not the Queen. The skin on her face quivered as she paused, and with a tight-lipped smile, she pushed the rest of her markers onto the table. Lorne leaned back and smirked as the other players murmured. With a nonchalance he didn’t feel he followed suit and laid his cards flat to reveal a full house.

His stomach dropped to his shoes as the Queen laid down, card by card, a straight flush. She met his gaze squarely, and he heard her voice inside his head. _I learn from my mistakes, human._ Lorne stood abruptly, feeling shaken. She knew that he knew, and she didn’t care. They’d never get close to her now, unless....

Feigning a smile, Lorne stood and shrugged. “Well played. I think I’ll sit out for a bit.”

Parrish pulled him to the farthest corner of the room. “What happened?”

“She read enough to know we’re on to her, but it doesn’t matter.” Lorne grabbed Parrish’s glass and swallowed what remained, the icy alcohol burning down his throat. “I need to get back in.”

“That’s crazy,” Parrish hissed. “She could kill you.”

“Not in front of all these people,” Lorne replied calmly. “Even she knows that.” He turned, but Parrish caught him by his sleeve. 

“Be careful. Please. I--” It was the first time he’d seen Parrish look troubled. All confidence was gone, and even the tux couldn’t make him look less vulnerable. 

“I know,” Lorne murmured, running a finger along Parrish’s jaw. Parrish leaned into the touch and closed his eyes. “Me, too.” It was hard to tear himself away, but the thing was nearly done. Maybe he really could talk Parrish into joining him in Atlantis.

Lorne signed off on the transfer of the remainder of McKay’s funds and grinned at the Queen as he took his place at the table. “Your boyfriend looks worried you’re going to lose all your money,” the man from Boston joked.

“Ah, no,” Lorne replied. “He was just reminding me how nice Venice is at this time of year.” The man chuckled as the dealer passed out cards, and Lorne put his plan into action.

He’d killed his first Wraith within days of arriving in Atlantis. They’d found the address to Manaria, farmers and herders who’d been more than happy to trade goods for protection. The Lanteans had underestimated the Wraith, fortunate only in that a small number of them had awakened to feed. 

His second had been a Queen; the first time he’d been on a Hive Ship, dank and foul and full of death. He’d been lucky then, too, rescuing McKay and the others before the Queen roused her soldiers. They’d returned with Gateships to finish the job, drones tearing holes in the ship and ensuring the hibernating Wraith would never awaken.

Lorne pushed another stack into the pile, daring a glance at the Queen. She glared at him, nostrils wide, all pretense of pleasantness gone. He gave her his most insolent smirk as he took the hand, raking the pile in and throwing a chip to the nearest server.

The German woman cracked a joke and the players laughed, but Lorne paid it no attention. He was getting to her, making her furious. He could feel it in his brain and on his skin. Win or lose, he knew, she would take the bait and follow them into the night.

There was the time Lorne had piloted an F302 from the hangar of the Daedalus, arrived just in time to fight off the twin Hive Ships that had discovered the location of Atlantis. Though its weapons were no match for the metal monstrosities, he’d shot down Dart after Dart until there were none left to give chase. 

On Athos, trade negotiations had been interrupted by the whine of Darts arrived for a culling, and what hadn’t fallen to the Lantean’s missiles and bullets and been brought down by Teyla and her fierce warriors.

They’d destroyed countless labs; among them a breeding facility for drones and the satellite where the Wraith stored and grew their ships. The replicators had turned on them because McKay had programmed them to, and the modified Hoffan serum poisoned them by the hundreds.

It seemed as though the technique for flying Gateships worked for poker as well, for the less Lorne concentrated, the more he won. The Queen was visibly agitated, though her dwindling pile of chips was only partly the cause. More players folded and quit, unable to keep up, but by now it was obvious Lorne was going to walk away with the bulk of the winnings.

He looked down, shocked to see how his chips had multiplied. The Japanese businessman gave him a congratulatory pat on the shoulder as he left, and the Bostonian quipped that Lorne should host a less formal game and give him the chance to win it back. _Yeah, and lose my kneecaps in the process,_ Lorne thought.

In the end, he took the last pot with a pair of aces, of all things. The Queen’s fury was almost painful, and for a moment he was afraid she’d throw caution to the wind and come after him then and there. She visibly calmed herself, no doubt thinking to corner him later and extract his account and passcodes, and his life in the process. He let her think it.

She stalked from the room, pushing aside the servers who attempted to hold the door open. But Lorne knew he had her. He’d felt her rummage in his thoughts until she’d found his room number, and he was careful to hold thoughts of the Hammond, high above them, in a well-shielded bubble.

“I guess that’s it, then.” Lorne stood and stretched, spine popping after having sat for so long. Parrish appeared at his side, round eyes flitting from the pile of chips on the table to the door the Queen had exited through. “It’s fine,” Lorne said quietly. “She’ll find us later.” Parrish nodded as though he understood, but he hadn’t had time to explain.

Nor could he now, suddenly surrounded by obsequious servers and an accountant from the Royale offices, who would need a moment of his time, if he would be so kind? It didn’t take long to cash in his winnings, and even after the casino took a cut for hosting the game, the number was staggering. He’d be able to pay McKay back with interest and return to Atlantis with the best care packages anyone had ever seen.

The two of them were escorted with all due decorum past the crowd on the main floor, declining the suggestion to upgrade their suite to something more luxurious. That certainly wouldn’t do, to leave just when the Queen would be looking for them. They exited the elevator arm in arm. Lorne felt flush with adrenaline, as much as when they’d leapt from the top of the hotel to escape the explosion.

“Did you see the look on her face?” Parrish laughed as they rounded the corner.

Lorne opened his mouth to answer, stumbled over something on the floor, and suddenly he was lifted off his feet. His back slammed into the wall, and he felt his shoulder blades punch through the plaster.

“Did you think you could be so bold and not pay the price?” The Wraith Queen held him pinned by her arm and her eyes, slitted pupils boring into him and freezing his limbs. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, and then her hand slapped onto his chest and everything turned to ice.

 

Woolsey shuffled the papers on his desk, though Lorne thought he was stalling for time rather than actually organizing. The man disliked unconventional plans, even when they were called for. “So you thought it was a good idea to goad the Wraith Queen into attacking you?”

“Well, sure.” Lorne rubbed the faint marks on his chest, barely noticeable unless you were looking. “I’d kind of thought we’d have time to get ready, but...” He shrugged. He wasn’t dead, and the Queen was in a holding cell on the Hammond. What more did Woolsey want?

Parrish received Woolsey’s glare next. “And you thought this was a good idea?”

“I didn’t know that was his plan,” Parrish replied. “But it worked, didn’t it?” _Only because you can think on your feet,_ Lorne added silently. Parrish had slapped the beacon on the Queen and activated the remote in one movement, and they’d both thanked Carter for keeping such a careful eye out for the signal. They’d been left standing in the hallway with the last of her corpses, someone who must have surprised her while she waited. They’d been questioned briefly and released, and summoned to Area 51 with no chance to so much as change.

Their clothing had caused a few raised eyebrows and Woolsey had harrumphed at the sight of them. But he couldn’t argue with results. Lorne could tell he was winding down, the repetitive questions his way of making sure he had all the facts before submitting his report. “One more thing,” Woolsey said, sliding the top paper across the table.

Lorne picked it up and read it, not quite sure what it meant. “It’s a list of supplies we requested over the last year.” Most were from the science departments, but he recognized a few he’d added himself.

“I thought...” Woosley shifted and adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat. “I thought since you find yourself suddenly, ah, flush...”

Lorne could only laugh. Leave it to Woolsey to find a way for him to dispose of the money guilt-free. “Can I put Siler in charge of it?” he asked. “You and General O’Neill owe me some major leave time.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Woolsey stood with a half grin. “After tomorrow you’re free until McKay is ready to return to Atlantis. I’ll be going back next week, myself, though I’m sure Ms. Emmagan and Mister Dex have everything under control.” 

Parrish stood and cleared his throat. “I have a request, too. I’d like to join the Atlantis expedition.”

Lorne felt a brief jolt of surprise that quickly turned to pleasure. He met Parrish’s smiling gaze as Woolsey nodded with “Of course, of course. You’re more than welcome to join us.” He gathered his papers and left, and then they were alone.

“You’re coming to Atlantis.” Lorne felt stupidly happy.

“Best place to study Wraith. And I hear there are a few very nice greenhouses.” He stepped forward into Lorne’s arms and they stood holding each other, until the events of the day crashed a wave of weariness over his head and he yawned against Parrish’s chest.

“Bed,” Lorne mumbled, pulling away reluctantly. 

“Bed,” Parrish agreed with a smirk. 

Lorne laughed and took Parrish’s hand, leading them back toward the desert night and the small barracks that might not be a suite at the Royale, but would be welcome just the same. “So...I have a month or two before I have to get back.” He gazed upwards, knowing Atlantis was up there and within reach whenever he needed it.

“Mmm,” Parrish hummed. “And what were you thinking of doing?”

“I hear Venice is nice.” He licked his lips, a last trace of uncertainty making him glad for the cover of darkness. “Even after I pay for everything the geeks and grunts could ever want, there will be plenty left over for the two of us to have a luxurious vacation.”

Parrish pulled him to a stop, turning to face him and lifting hands to fuss at his collar and tie. “You’re going to need another tux,” he said playfully, leaning down to place his lips against Lorne’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes--I did consider having Lorne called back from leave when Rodney figured out that Sheppard's Wraith was close to sending a signal, swooping in just in time in the Gateship to pick up a bleeding--but still breathing--Sheppard.
> 
> But this isn't his story, it's Evan's and David's, though you can picture that ending in your head.


End file.
